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The Cricket's Song 



kja«f«.HY of congress! 

Iwu Cooles Received 

:>L? 28 \90t 

Copynjttit Entry 

COPY B. 






Copyright, 1907 

BY 

J. B. LippiNCOTT Company 
Published September, 1907 



Printtd hy J. B. Lipfiincott Company 
T^e ff^ashington Square Prssi, Philadelphia 



«i* ** 



FOREWORD 

During youth and early manhood poetry and lit- 
erature were, to the mind of the author, synonymous 
terms. In this he but repeated the history of mankind, 
in which poetry has always been the first and for a time 
the only literature. 

With half a dozen exceptions the poems in this 
volume are the product of that period and mood of life. 
A considerable number of them have been printed in 
The Indepe7ident, The Outlook, Scribner' s Magazine, 
The Century Magazine, The Atlaiitic Monthly and The 
Galaxy, to the publishers of which acknowledgment is 
made. 

H. E. W. 

Washington, D. C. 



Table of Contents 

The Cricket's Song, 9 

The Idler, ii 

A Bird in the Bush, 15 

The Flight of the Red Horse, 18 

The Star-Born, 29 

At the End of the Years, 45 

Anathema, 52 

His Funeral Sermon, 60 

A Winter's Night, 66 

Unreturning, 69 

Ephphatha, 71 

Through the Cloud and the Sea, 74 

In the Valley of Shadows, 77 

At Evening Time It Shall Be Light, 81 

The Literary Vagabond, 83 

Lost, 86 

Wild Plum Blossoms, 88 

Riddles, 90 

Circumstance, 92 

The Wager by Battle, 95 



What the Engine Says, 114 
Ragnarok, 118 
The New Name, 119 
As I Grow Old, 120 
Life and Love, 123 
Belated, 125 
Fever Fancies, 126 
Down Below, 128 
Sealed Orders, 131 
The Returner, 132 



THE CRICKET'S SONG 

Prone on the earth beneath the sparkling sky 

On the cool grass, in idle ease, I lie 

Where shadows crowd aside the waning light 

And listen to the voices of the night. 

Half in a dream, I hear with vague delight 

The sibilant, sharp song or reedy cry 

Of wrangling insects, shrilling with their might, 

And waiting long with well attuned ear 

And quickening joy, a piping fine and clear, 

A silken thread of sound in earth and air. 

Through the thick-woven chorus I do hear 

The night's sweet undertone, and marvel why 

I heard it not before, for it was there. 

9 



Amid the world's full-throated singers long 
I raised my oaten reed, content to be 
Unheard so I might voice the melody, 
The little melody I inly hear. 
Thrice happy if at last some waiting ear, 
Attempered with a kindly sympathy, 
Should hear, rejoicing at my slender song. 



10 



THE IDLER 

When days are long and skies are bright, 
When woods are green and fields are breezy, 

I take my fill of warmth and light 
And take — well, yes, I take things easy. 

You men of figures sneer, I know, 

Call me an idle, dreamy fellow; 
But my chief business here below 

Is, like the apple's, to grow mellow. 

I coax the fish in cove or creek. 

My light skiff rocks on rocking billow 

Or, weary, in some shade I seek 
A mossy hummock for my pillow, 

II 



Where stretched upon the checkered grass, 
Above the pebbly margin growing, 

I watch the still soft shadows pass. 

Lulled by the hum of warm airs blowing. 



On bending spray of tallest tree 

The brown thrush balanced takes his station, 
And half in jest, half soberly. 

Holds forth, half song and half oration. 



The red-capped workman on his limb. 
Up, down, in circles briskly hopping, 

Nods to the helpmeet calling him 

With knowing air his sage head dropping. 



She peeping shyly from the door. 
Expectant, listens to his drumming. 

The children sharply call for more 
And ask her when the grub is coming. 

12 



At times by plashy shore the still, 

White-belted watchman springs his rattle, 

And faintly borne from distant hill 
Come tinkling bells and low of cattle. 



The waves in long procession tread 
Upon the beach in solemn motion. 

Fringed with white breakers overhead 
Cloud islands dot the upper ocean. 



I know you solid men will sneer, 
Call me a thriftless, idle fellow; 

But, as I said, my business here 
Is, like the apple's, to grow mellow. 



And since the summer will not stay, 
And since the winter follows fleetly. 

To fitly use the passing day 

Requires my time and thought completely. 

13 



But, if of life I get the best, 

The use of wealth without its fetters, 
Am I more idle than the rest 

Or, wiser than the money-getters? 



14 



A BIRD IN THE BUSH 

Robin, under my window, just as the morning is 
breaking, 
Singing an autumn song ere you flit to the summer 
land, 
Clear, sweet throated musician, me from my slumber 
awaking, 
You, at least, are a bird in the bush worth two in 
the hand. 

Listening thus to your carol could almost set me 
a-singing 
Ah ! if my heart were so light and my life so free 
of care, 
Could I but join in your roving, southward our swift 
flight winging, 
Unto the land where the orange blooms, and jessa- 
mine scents the air. 

15 



T can but envy your freedom ; truly, as I am a 
sinner. 
You sow not, you reap not and yet by the Father's 
hand are fed 
While I — I must toil late and early if I would make 
sure of my dinner. 
Am I, then, better than you because I must work 
for my bread? 



Your songs are never rejected, you chaffer not over 
their payment; 
Hopping about as you please through the long 
bright summer day, 
Taking no thought of the morrow, no care for shelter 
and raiment ; 
For with the chill winds of November you hasten 
southward away. 



16 



Shunning the car and the steamer, you have no need 
of a ticket, 
Hackmen will leave you in peace, no landlord will 
put in his bill ; 
You travel by private conveyance, you stop in a first 
class thicket, 
And, dropping down in a cornfield, breakfast and 
dine when you will. 



Well, then, go if you must, since the leaves of the 
maple are burning, 
May you find pleasure and health, but do not tarry 
too long. 
With the first buds of the springtime back to my 
window returning 
Waken me early some morning from dreaming, 
again with your song. 



17 



THE FLIGHT OF THE RED HORSE 

A DAKOTA LEGEND 

** My son, Woniya, I must take 
A journey to the Sacred Lake. 
Far to the north, 'mid ice and snow, 
A long, long way it is I go. 
An arrow flying all the night 
Would fail to reach it in its flight. 
You are my son ; I give to-day 
Full leave to all your childish play. 
All things are yours ; go where you will, 
Save to the Red House on the hill. 
Try not its door, turn not the key; 
There death and ruin wait for thee. 
But how and why I may not tell. 
For there is laid on me a spell, 
So all my love must turn to hate, 
And no man can escape his fate." 

i8 



Washaka goes. In boyish play 
The child wears out the summer day ; 
He swims the stream, his crafty hook 
Draws shining treasure from the brook; 
The chattering squirrel hugs his limb 
As the swift arrow grazes him, 
But ever, as he played, he said, 
''What is there in the House of Red?" 
Go where he would, each pathway still 
Led to the Red House on the hill. 

At last he stands before the door 
With mystic symbols pictured o'er. 
" What could my father mean," he said, 
" To keep me from the House of Red ? " 
Ah, no ! he will not disobey. 
Although the sire is far away; 
And yet, what harm could come of it 
For him to see which key would fit? 

And now he tries them, one by one, 
Until the last — what has he done! 

19 



Some thoughtless pressure of the lock, 
The door flies open with a shock. 
Strange tremors run along the ground ; 
The world is full of direful sound; 
Strange voices talk ; strange whispers rise ; 
Strange portents in the earth and skies. 
Through the wide door the youth can see 
All that there is of mystery, 
Before him stood a Horse of Red, 
With mane of gold, who sternly said : 
" Unhappy boy ! what have you done ? 
Washaka now must slay his son." 

Struck down with terror and remorse. 
The youth falls prone before the horse. 
" Oh, help me, help ! " Woniya cries, 
With gasping breath and streaming eyes. 
" Teach me some way ; show me the path 
Where I may flee my father's wrath." 
The horse replies : " The wrong is great, 
Yet I have pity on thy fate. 

20 



One way alone is left to flee, 
With perils fraught to thee and me. 
I charge thee, on thy life, thy soul, 
To yield thee up to my control. 
Look neither backward, left, nor right; 
Be brave, and yield no place to fright. 
Thy father now will try each art 
To strike a terror to thy heart ; 
But if thy heart begin to quail, 
That instant all my strength will fail; 
And if Washaka us overtake, 
I, too, must perish for thy sake. 
Take in thy hand this conjurer's sack. 
Away ! away ! Spring to my back ! " 



So said, so done. Away they sped. 

The dark sky clamored overhead; 

A mighty wind blew from the east, 

Which momently its force increased; 

The sun went down, but, through the night. 

He holds his tireless, even flight. 

21 



No need is there for spur or rein; 

Life is the prize he strives to gain. 

But though the horse flies Hke the wind, 

The father presses hard behind, 

And, ere the break of morn appears, 

A dreadful voice is in their ears : 

" Stop ! Stop ! thou traitor, while my knife 

Shall quickly end thy wretched life." 

*' Beware ! Beware ! Turn not your head ! 

Be brave ! Be brave ! " the Red Horse said. 

*' Put now your hand within the sack ; 

What first you find throw quickly back." 

Woniya in an instant found 

An egg, and tossed it to the ground; 

It bursts, it spreads — a wide morass. 

Through which the father may not pass ; 

Fierce lightnings fire Washaka's eyes 

As westward still the Red Horse flies. 

Long time the father sought, in vain, 
Some passage o'er the marsh to gain, 

22 



Where long-necked lizards basked or fought, 

Where winged dragons ruin wrought, 

Where serpents coiled and hissed, whose breath 

Rolled up in clouds of fire and death. 

At last he throws the magic bone, 

Which turns that teeming life to stone; 

And where he picks his careful way 

There are the Bad Lands to this day. 

The morn blooms in the eastern sky; 
The day comes on, the noon is nigh; 
The noon is past, the sun is low, 
The evening red begins to glow; 
But, driven still by sorest need, 
Still swift and swifter flies the steed. 
Vast, sky-rimmed plains on either side 
Begin to turn in circles wide. 
While rock, and shrub, and bush within 
In dizzy circles spin and spin. 
So swift the flight, so hot the race, 
The wind blows backward in his face; 

23 



But swifter far than any wind 

The father presses on behind, 

And to their ears is borne the cry 

That summons them again to die. 

" Beware ! Be brave ! Turn not thy head ! 

Put in thy hand ! " the Red Horse said ; 

" The first thing that thy hand shall find, 

That take, and quickly hurl behind." 



He draws and throws a bit of stone, 
When, 'twixt the father and the son, 
A range of mountains rears its height 
On either hand beyond the sight. 
Washaka seeks a pass in vain ; 
To left and right, above the plain, 
The strong, grim rocks confront his eyes. 
While westward still the Red Horse flies. 
At last he draws his feathered spear 
And hurls against the rampart sheer. 
So swift it dashes on the rock 
Fire-streams burst outward at the shock, 

24 



And where against the diff he drives, 

From base to top it rends and rives; 

A narrow gorge is opened through, 

By which Washaka may pursue. 

And now the Red Horse knows the need 

To lavish all his garnered speed. 

His hoof-beats fall like thunder-dints, 

And kindle showers of flying flints ; 

So swift he flies that one afar 

Might deem he saw a falHng star; 

But swifter still upon his path 

Washaka follows in his wrath. 

And now that fearful voice again 

Comes o'er the horror-shaken plain : 

" Stop, wretches, stop ! Behold the flood ! 

Now shall my knife run red with blood ! 

Who now can save you from my hate, 

And who has ever conquered fate ? " 

Alas ! what hope is left, and where ? 
What refuge now from blank despair? 

25 



The end is come, where shall they flee? 

Before them is the open sea. 

" Beware ! Beware ! Turn not thy head ! 

Put in thy hand ! " the Red Horse said ; 

" Just as we reach the ocean shore, 

Draw out and quickly hurl before. 

Be strong of heart. Be calm ; be brave ; 

The sea is not to be our grave." 

Woniya thrusts his hand within. 

Draws forth the bead-wrought serpent's skin, 

And casts it forth, when lo! a boat 

Upon the gleaming waves afloat ! 

They gain it with a single leap 

That sends it forward on the deep. 

The sails are set; before the breeze 

It draws its white trail o'er the seas. 

In vain the bright blade of the sire 

Whirls through the air in rings of fire. 

He gains the beach a moment late — 

What man has ever conquered fate? 

Vain are his curses, vain his prayer ; 

The glittering waves are everywhere. 

26 



Washaka stoops along the sands, 
Uproots a huge cHff with his hands; 
He heaves aloft with tug and strain, 
And sends it wheeling o'er the main. 
High in the air it rocks and swings, 
A moment to the clouds it clings; 
Then, as from lofty mountain-walls, 
Like some vast avalanche, it falls. 
The sea shrinks, cringing, from the shock 
Of that dark, shapeless bulk of rock. 
Like some great fragment of a world 
From out the stellar spaces hurled. 
Like chaff beneath the flail outspread 
The waves, and bare the ocean's bed. 
One vast wall, sweeping to the west, 
Bears on its topmost curving crest 
The tiny boat, so feather-light. 
Through all that long and fearful night ; 
At morn they rest, their journey done. 
In a fair land beyond the sun ; 
And one, with awful rush and roar, 
Springs tiger-like against the shore, 

27 



Drags down Washaka from the land, 
And hides him 'neath the sUding sand. 

Still from the coast a slender bar, 
Like a long finger, stretching far. 
When tides are low, points o'er the wave- 
That is Washaka's lonely grave. 



28 



THE STAR-BORN 



A DAKOTA MYTH 



Upon a grassy slope without the camp 
Where shadows, falHng fold on fold, grew deep 
And broadened slowly, lay two maids at eve, 
And gazing on the star-groups floating far 
Saw where the Swan adown the glimmering way 
On soundless pinions held her tranquil flight. 
The morrow, all unwilling, they should wed 
With warriors of their tribe, and thus one spake 
" Oh, if I might but marry that bright star." 
Then as she spoke she felt herself upborne. 
Without a jar or shock but silently 
As a bright bubble rising from the deep, 

29 



And looking down she saw a deathly face 

And wild eyes upward staring and stretched hands 

And streaming hair, and heard a lessening shriek 

As if an arrow flying from the bow 

Should hear the sharp twang of the quivering string. 

The wavering camp-fires glimmered and grew dim 

Like eyes that shut and opened — and were gone. 

The mountains sank in mist and the wide earth 
Became a luminous, vast wheel that shrank 
And, paling, narrowed to a speck of blue, 
But the bright star to which the maiden rose 
Grew broad and splendid, flooding all the sky. 
But now at last upon its verge she rests 
And finds it land like the fair world below, 
And one in shining raiment met her there 
And led her home and she became his wife. 

There passed a time, a peaceful, happy time. 
Day followed day with simple gladness crowned. 
The morrows shone before a goodly line 
In bright procession and passed on behind 

30 



In misty, unregretted yesterdays, 

Till memories of earth grew faint and dim, 

Its life and hopes a half-remembered dream. 

But all around, as in her earthly home, 

Grew tipsinna, large-stalked and very good. 

Which she desired to eat and told her lord, 

For now a new, mysterious thrill within. 

The rhythmic pulsing of a hidden life, 

Brought her strange longings ; but her lord forbade. 

Then on a time when they had moved their camp 

By some unhappy chance her tent was pitched 

Above a tipsinna both large and fair 

And thinking, '' Surely no one now will see," 

She struck her hunpe down beside the root 

And pried and lifted, summoning all her strength 

To start the stubborn, deeply-driven wedge. 

And drew at last the dark-skinned bulb away. 

When lo ! a hole was opened through where she 

Looked down and saw and knew the azure world ; 

But even as she gazed the sides fell in 

31 



And slipped below; then on the crumbling edge 
She ran and shrieked, caught at the tumbling grass, 
Then downward whirling, like an arrow fell, 
And swift and swifter, till all sense was lost. 



That night a hunter looking saw a star, 
For so it seemed, shoot swiftly to the earth, 
And going thither found, O piteous sight. 
The mother crushed and broken, and a babe 
Close by her side stretched out but breathing still; 
And full of pity, this the hunter took 
And wrapping in his blanket bore him home. 
'' Old woman," said he, '' I have found this boy 
By his dead mother and I brought him here." 
And glad, for one by one her babes had gone 
And mother love yearned to the motherless, 
** Old man," she answered, " let us raise this child." 
" Yes, we will swing him round the tent," he said. 
And through the smoke-hole whirled him, but the babe 
Fell down and came in creeping. And again 
The old man tossed him, whereupon a boy 

32 



Came walking in. And yet again he threw, 

And this time came a lad with green round sticks. 

Then last of all the old man flung him up, 

Nor was it manifest the way he went. 

But after they had waited long there came 

A young man bearing sticks who entering said : 

" Grandfather, make me arrows for the chase." 

And this the old man did, and many days 

With bow and quiver Star-Born went about, 

A cunning hunter, and much game he killed. 

And since they had not room for all their packs 

They built another teepee, very large, 

And stored them there, and in dried meats were rich. 

Thus Star-Born came, the offspring of the skies. 
A tender babe, he grew to man's estate. 
Strong, faithful, brave, not scorning earthly tasks, 
Nor knowing yet how he should save his race. 

II 

Straight as an arrow, springy as a bow, 

So grew the Star-Born, supple, sinewy, strong, 

3 33 



With grip of steel and large of heart and limb 

And knew not fear nor any weariness. 

But now some inward urgency compelled 

Till he of the old hunter made request, 

" Tun-ka-shi-da, Grandfather, let me go 

That I may travel." ** Yes," the old man said ; 

" The time to travel is when one is young." 

Then Star-Born journeying came upon a day 

To where a people dwelt, and lo ! the men 

Were shooting arrows through a hoop, but one, 

Am-pe-tu-sha, looked on whom Star-Born joined 

And chose for friend, and by and by he said : 

" Now take me to your tent, Ko-da, my friend," 

And they together went. But when they came 

To where this young man with his kun-shi dwelt 

Alone, for she had raised him, thus he said : 

" Un-ci, Grandmother, give my friend some food." 

But she : " What do you mean ? There is no food 

And all the people die of thirst, and they 

Who go for water come not any more 

For something swallows them." And Star-Born said 

" My friend and I will go," but sore dismayed 

34 



The woman wept and strove to keep them back; 
" Mi-ta-ko-ja ! Mi-ta-ko-ja ! " she cried, 
Lamenting for her grandchild raised with care. 

Then came they to the margin of a lake 

Where on the bank stood many vessels full, 

And Star-Born called : *' You who they say have killed 

All who have come for water, where are you? 

For I have come for water." Then at once 

Whither the young men went could not be seen. 

But in a place extended they beheld 

Young men and women waiting; some were dead 

And some were dying, but none hoped or strove. 

" How came you here ? " said Star-Born, and they 

cried : 
'* We came for water and were swallowed up ; 
So we are lost and you yourself are lost." 
Then felt he something beating on his head, 
Blow after blow, and asked them what it was, 
" Take care," the others cried, " that is the heart ! " 
Then drew he forth his knife and whirling it 

35 



Around his head sent sparkles through the dark 
And with swift stroke cleft the huge thing in twain, 
And lo! a mighty sound and something shook 
As when an island bursts up from the deep; 
Then all was still. So Star-Born hewed a way 
And came forth with the others to the light. 
Then were the people glad and sought to build 
A house for Star-Born and to give him wives, 
Two fairest maidens, but he answering said : 
" Nay, I must journey. Give them to my friend." 

So he went on and came another day 

To where a people dwelt, and as before 

The men were shooting hoops and one looked on, 

Chaske, whom Star-Born joined and made his friend; 

And to his tent they went and this one said : 

" Mi-kun-shi, bring my friend some food." But she : 

*' There is no food and all the people die 

For lack of wood, and they who go for it 

Are somehow lost and come not back at all." 

So unto Chaske, Star-Bom turned and said: 

36 



" Come now, my friend, and we will bring back wood." 
Thus Star-Born, but the woman wept and wailed. 
Lamenting her lost grandchild raised with care. 
But some behind them followed to the wood 
And there they found great bundles ready tied 
Which Star-Born bade them carry to the camp. 
But when the rest were gone he stood and cried : 
" Ye who have killed all who have come for wood, 
Where have you gone? For I have come for wood." 
Then where he vanished was not manifest 
But in a room extended as before 
With young men and young women he was shut, 
And some were dead and some were waiting death 
But no one hoped or strove. Then Star-Born asked : 
" How came you here ? " And they : " What do you 

mean? 
We came for wood and something brought us here 
And we are lost and you yourself are lost." 
But looking all about he spied a hole 
Through which there crept a little straggling light. 
"And what is this?" he said. "Take care," they 

cried, 

37 



" That is the Thing Itself." Then Star-Bom drew 
An arrow to the head and flashed it forth 
Which, sharply crying, cleft through flesh and bone; 
And when the thing was dead they all came forth, 
And lo! a great owl's ear had shut them in. 

Then on another day he came and found 

A people perishing for lack of food 

And chose a friend who took him to his tent, 

And asking food the woman made excuse : 

" The North God treats us badly ; if one kills 

The buffalo, he takes it and we starve." 

" Mi-kun-shi," Star-Born answered, " go and say 

From a long way Mi-ta-ko-ja has come 

And I have naught to give him." Thus she did, 

Standing afar and quaking fearfully, — 

Lean, eager, wan, and wringing bony hands; 

But North God used her roughly, and she cried 

And came back bringing nothing. " Now, my friend, 

Take packing-straps and we will fetch home meat," 

Said Star-Born, though the woman much bewailed, 

38 



Lamenting her lost grandchild raised with care. 
Now when they reached the place they found much 

meat 
Without the house, and filled their packing-straps 
Which the young man bare home. But Star-Born 

went 
Within and faced and rated the North God 
For treating the old woman badly; and there hung 
Upon the wall a mighty bow of ice, 
Which Star-Born seized and snapped, while North 

God frowned 
Till all the sky was black and boded storm. 

Then, on the morrow, Star-Born bade the folk 

To hunt ; and many buffalo they killed ; 

But as they dressed the meat their cruel foe 

Came, gathering in his blanket all the flesh. 

As was his wont, but Star-Born him withstood, 

Defying him and warning him away. 

Then North God bragging said : " Who points at me 

Will die," but Star-Born stretched his hand 

39 



And felt no ill, and in his turn replied: 
" Who points at me will have a withered hand." 
Then North God pointed, laughing scornfully, 
First one hand, then the other; but they stayed 
Stretched out and rigid as if carved in stone. 
Or filled with his own frosts. Then Star-Born slashed 
The blanket and the gathered meat fell out. 
Which all the folk bore homeward, while the God 
Raged, yelling with his pain and helplessness. 

But the next day 't was noised about the camp 
That North God's wife had sewed his blanket up 
And he would shake it, which the people feared. 
And so it was, for facing to the north 
He shook his blanket and the snowflakes came 
Like great leaves whirling, and the ground was clad, 
The trees were laden and the very heavens 
Grew white and seemed to fall, so thick the snow. 
And all the tents were hidden. Then the winds 
Blew from the north in tumult, and they drove 
The snows in whirlwinds till all vision ceased, 

40 



And drifts grew into mountains, and the plains 
Were ridged and furrowed like the sea in storm. 
Then the winds ceased and bitter cold began 
To grope its way through the thick-covered tents; 
The breath froze, falling down in snowy flakes 
And spears of ice to lip and nostril clung; 
The air was death; even in the sheltered woods 
The huddled buffalo stood stark and dead ; 
And people shivered, numb with fright and cold. 
Then Star-Born took a fan and made his way 
Up to the air and sat upon a ridge 
And fanned himself until the South Winds came 
And pushed the snowdrifts backward to the North, 
Like frightened sheep in flight, so great the heat. 
And North God turned to flee, at last, too late, 
And with his wife and children burned away, 
All save the youngest, the smooth-bellied lad, 
Who slipped into a hole where yet was frost 
And so was saved — for Star-Born saw him not — 
To bring on earth the winter and rude winds, 
But in the spring to the far North he flies. 



41 



Ill 

Then would the people build a house for him 
And give him wives, but Star-Born stood and spake: 
"My friends, I need them not; I journey on. 
But if one maid among you, leaving all — 
Her home, her friends, her country, all she loves — 
Will go alone with me, not knowing where, 
To share perchance my dangers and my toils, 
Give her to me, for she shall be my wife." 

Then all the fairest maids who gathered stood 

Shame-faced and conscious, thinking secretly, 

" Oh, might his choice but fall on me," shrank back 

Abashed; but one, a meek and simple maid 

Who stood afar, not knowing she was fair. 

Nor dreaming one might choose her, at the word 

Came forth in silence, lifting not her eyes, 

And laid her hand for token in his own. 

Then as the shadows gathered round the camp 
Amid the cry of clamorous farewells 

42 



They went together forth. A little space 

Upon the hill against the reddening sky 

They stood, and, turning, Star-Bom spread his hands 

As if in blessing; and they went their way. 

Then day by day they wandered in a land 
Where no one dwelt nor any game was seen, 
And only roots and berries gave them food. 
But on a time when leaves began to glow 
At the sharp kiss of frost, and down the west 
The young moon reapt her way with sickle bright 
Through the ripe fields o' the sky, and all was still. 
Upon a height they stood, and Star-Born told. 
For well he knew, the story of his birth. 
Then spake he, gazing upward to his star: 
" O Father ! high exalted over all. 
From whom, a spark of the eternal fire, 
I sprang to do thy bidding in the world, 
Lo! I have done the work thou gavest me, 
Have brought the people water, food, and fire, 
Have tempered the cold winds and made the earth 

43 



The fit abode of man. Now, with my friend, 
Made one with me, let me return again 
Up to the silent, ever-watching sky 
That bends in love above the race of men." 

So spake he, and together they arose 
Above the earth, beyond all cloud and storm 
To heights serene and still, where yet we see 
Against the heavenly blue a double star. 



44 



AT THE END OF THE YEARS 

Perchance it matters not to one 
Who has outlived his Httle day, 
When toil and care are overpast 
And all the weary round is done — 
It matters little at the last 
To one who, lying underground. 
All undisquieted should hear 
Borne dully to his listless ear 
Some careless word of praise or blame, 
The little things men buzz around, 
And yet I wonder all the same 
When I am dead what men will say? 

When the gashed earth is healed again 
Perhaps one standing at the place 
With downward eyes and on his face 

45 



A thoughtful shadow of the past, 
The memory of a vanished pain, 
With generous, overpraise might say: 
" This was my true and valued friend, 
Warm, earnest, loyal, tender, just; 
With friend and foe he kept his trust. 
His heart was free from all deceit, 
Ah me! but it has ceased to beat 
And crumbled to its native dust. 
So death reclaims his own at last 
For he is strong and makes an end ; 
We are the creatures of a day." 

And other men will pass and one, 
Perchance an old-time enemy. 
Will gaze upon the carven stone 
And feel an old resentment burn 
And say with rancour in his tone: 
" There was a cold, hard man and stern, 
Austere, intolerant, taciturn. 
Complacent, selfish and alone, 

46 



Without a human sympathy." 
So shall he heap upon my name 
A tribute of reproach and blame. 

Another still will say, " There lies 

A most eccentric, wayward man, 

The type of contradictories, 

A visionary and a sage, 

A flighty oracle and seer, 

A dreamer in a bustling age 

Who sometimes made the wildest plan 

Born of a brooding mind seem clear 

By his too hopeful prophecies. 

He cared not if he lost or won, 

Nor even that his plans be tried; 

He made them and his work was done. 

They pleased his fancy, as a boy 

Delighted with his latest toy 

Puts lightly all the rest aside. 

He failed, of course, but never knew, 



47 



Such standards did the man profess ; 

What we deem failure, he success. 

Calm, fitful, patient, passionate. 

Inconstant, steadfast as a fate. 

For with a cable strained and taut 

Fixed in the eternal verities 

There swung his strongly anchored thought." 



And sometimes, when the rosy glow 

Of summer sunset covers all. 

One bending sadly o'er the mound 

And musing on the dead below 

Will from her lips no word let fall 

Of praise or blame, while down her cheek 

Some bright drops tremble, sliding slow. 

Will tell of some still aching wound, 

And she, poor soul, forgive again 

All that had ever caused her pain. 

Ah, then, how should I long to speak 



48 



To tell how sweet a rest I Ve found, 
How still the slumber underground. 

But not for long shall friend or foe 

Or any note or have a care. 

The years will come, the years will go. 

And friend and foe alike will bear 

To the dark chambers of decay 

Where all shall rest secure as I. 

And nature's kindly forces play, 

The wind, the hail, the sleet, the snow, 

The crumbling frost, the softening rain. 

To wear the ghastly scar away 

And smooth the ridgy earth again. 

And ages lapsing silently 

Lead on the day when none shall know 

That dust of mortal sleeps below. 

At last an idler all alone 
May chance upon a broken stone 
Amid the grass that covers all 
With moss and lichens overgrown, 

4 49 



And stooping down may slowly trace 
The shadowy letters and recall 
How such an one in ancient times 
Wrought out some long-forgotten rhymes 
And went his way with all his race. 

So he shall turn and lightly pass 

And from his mind the thought will cease 

Like summer cloud in summer sky 

Or swift wing-shadow on the grass ; 

The tiny creatures hid below 

The immemorial stone in peace 

Shall live their little lives and die, 

Not more unheeded of the race 

And alien little more than I. 

Yet somewhere in the mighty plan 

That out of chaos made me man 

And gave me thought and speech I know 

That I shall still retain a place. 

The patient mother still will keep 

Her children wheresoe'er they are, 

50 



With brow serene and sleepless eye, 
With love outwatching every star 
That watches from the steadfast sky, 
To guard them surely where they lie 
And duly waken them from sleep. 



51 



ANATHEMA 

Why do I toil forlorn on weary feet 

On journeys never ending, without aim? 

Through whirling snows and summer drifts of he? 

Wasted and worn through all the years the same, 

I may not tarry, neither rest nor sleep. 

Urged ever onward, tottering in despair. 

And in my rage my hoary beard I tear. 

Of years and centuries I take no keep. 

I only know that I am old, so old ! 

All whom I loved have crumbled into dust 

And intermingled with earth's common mould 

While I still journey onward — as I must, 

Anathema, crowned with immortal woe. 

To hate each pulse-beat, writhe at every breath, 

To live and yearn eternally for death. 

52 



One voice is ever swelling on the air, 

One word is ever throbbing in my ear, 

Mid roaring city streets that voice I hear, — 

It drives me on, it overawes my will, 

And through the battle-trumpet's deafening blare 

Breaks undiminished and enthralls me still. 



One form affronts and frights me everywhere. 

Stands barring up my ever changing path 

And goads me on to frenzy and despair. 

The tiniest flower gives back those starry eyes, 

Sad without pity, terrible in wrath 

I see them in the forest's billowing green 

And in the mirrored lake where moonbeams sleep 

Or shadows dance the rippling waves between. 

Alike they gaze from summer's azure skies 

And storm cloud rushing on, whose angry frown 

Darkens the fields, and the white flames that leap, 

The tongue of the old serpent flickering down. 



53 



How should I dream that Israel's Holy One 
Would come from Nazareth, that robber den? 
How honor one who, simple and unknown, 
With but a mob of lawless fishermen 
And babbling peasants thought to win a throne 
And hold against the strong with words alone? 
Sooth had I seen the lame leap up and walk, 
The leper cleansed, the blind receive his sight — 

fool ! what madness drove me on to mock 
One who had raised the dead to life and light? 

That dreadful morning when the city rose, 
Like hungry vultures ravening for food, 

1 rent my clothes and clamoured with His foes ; 
I saw Him fainting underneath the wood 

And tottering sink before my very door, 
But closed my heart against the voice of good 
And beating, cursed Him. Then that pleading eye 
Grew stem and awful, shaking all my soul. 
Ah, hapless wretch ! I felt that all was lost, 
The gates of mercy shut forevermore. 

54 



Ah, me; that look will haunt me like a ghost, 

Ill-fated one, denied the right to die, 

And doomed to wander while the ages roll. 

And so I left my home, my native land, 

And thus I journey on from shore to shore 

And find no rest. On every lonely strand 

I '\e watched the restless billows surge and roar, 

Fit emblem of my soul in torment tossed. 

Till my ears ached with sound, the evermore 

Unchanging lamentation, *' Lost," and " Lost ! " 

Would that I knew where I might find thee, Death, 

Dark watcher, thou whom mortals dread and fear; 

I yearn to thee, I fain would kiss thy face. 

I would not shudder at thy icy breath 

Piercing through bone and marrow ; yea, more dear 

Than love's warm arms would be thy chill embrace. 

Oh, but to feel the sharp sting of thy spear! 

Age after age I 've sought, and sought in vain. 
The hungry sea that gulps whole navies down 
Sports with my woe and spews me forth again. 

55 



I walk untouched the panic-maddened town, 

Where horror-scattering Plague each step I meet — 

Men wildly rushing, blotched with burning red, 

Howling their curses to the city's gate, 

Or, grappled by an unrepenting fate, 

Fall, shrieking, down among the blackened dead 

Whose festering corpses sow the reeking street. 

I stand upon the battle-shaken plain 

Where bullets thick as drops of summer rain 

Sing wildly to the cannon's measured beat, 

Filling with calls to death the shivering air; 

But not to me they bring the message sweet, 

Not to my heart the lethal balm they bear. 

I beard the famished lion in his lair 

Which, cowering, whines with burning eye askance. 

And lashes tail and licks his hungry jaws, 

Dazed and dismayed, and dare not snatch his prey. 

The tiger, sliding on his velvet paws, 

Astonished turns with many a backward glance 

And swaying head and baffled slinks away. 

The crooked snake slips noiseless from my path, 



56 



That subtle beast that wrought the woman's fall 

And called upon our race Jehovah's wrath. 

In vain with naked heel I bruise his head, 

Or, if I seize the deadliest of them all 

And dash my hand against his hooked fangs. 

For all my toil I gain but deathly pangs, 

Not death, not death and slumber that I crave, 

For fevered veins the coolness of the grave. 

Inalienable estate of all the dead. 

'No help in nature. Might I turn to man? 
If they whose lives from sin and wrong are free 
And filled with holy penance day and night 
Can move eternal justice with their prayer, 
Would not their cries avail for even me? 
Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? 
Ah, wretched outcast of an outcast race, 
In man's compassion without lot or share. 
In the waste places 'neath the orient sun 
Such have I met and on my bended knee, 
My head dustsprinkled, begged this charity, 

57 



But when they knew the crime that I had done 
They crossed themselves and cursed me to my face. 

No way is left to free me from my doom ; 

Long, bitter ages gone I tried them all. 

I try them o'er and o'er though all have failed, 

The judgment of the Mightiest has prevailed 

And He who notes the tiniest sparrow's fall 

Has shut the thousand gateways to the tomb. 

I pant along with eyeballs scorched and dry 

Eternal horror mantling in my breast, 

As hart for water-brook I long for rest, 

Maddened and frantic with desire to die. 

From my baked lips there gurgles forth a cry 

As if one fought with demons in his dream, 

Or corpse should shake his darkness with a scream. 

What more is left, what ending to my woe? 

O follower of Him, who morn and eve 

For human guilt and suffering mourn and grieve, 

When at your household altar low you bend 

58 



To ask for lengthened days for thee and thine, 
O, pray for him who is forbid to pray, 
Alone in Heaven and earth without a friend, 
That the poor gift of nothingness be mine. 
That I, too long afflicted, now may go 
Through nameless torment, if it must be so. 
To be at last as though I had not been. 
Blotted forever from the roll of men. 

Nay, nay; 'tis vain. Yet longer must I wait. 
" Until I come, until I come," He said. 
Yea, Thou hast conquered, Man of Nazareth, 
And to the end I must endure my fate. 
I Ve watched the heavens so longingly at night, 
And I have seen strange portents in the skies, 
The darkened sun, the moon withholding light, 
And in the earth false christs and prophets rise, 
Wars, earthquake, famine, but not in the cloud 
Thy sudden signal, when the heavens are bowed 
And the stars fall and graves give up their dead, 
To fill Thy followers with fear and dread 
And me with joy to snatch the boon of death, 

59 



HIS FUNERAL SERMON 

Diffused and formless, vacant, undefined, 
Slow-drifting shadow, without center, waste, 
The dust of ancient being, life no more. 
What was and is not, though it blindly strives. 
And ill at ease to find its struggles vain, 
To link itself to thought and memory. 
To be re-born and know itself itself. 

But Hush ! but Hark,! There 's something that I know. 
I 've heard that sound before — a doorway opes 
On memory and like a sudden light 
Thought sweeps through all the chambers of the mind ; 
I seem to know myself, though I am dead. 
Yet it is strange. I surely thought the soul, 
Freed from the body's gross companionship, 
Acquired new senses, attributes, and powers, 

60 



New energies, o'erflowed with vaster life — 
But no, I see not, feel not, only hear 
Far off the drone of a remembered song. 
Is there some state betwixt the quick and dead, 
The half-way house and limbo of the soul? 
Perplexed and dark. I know that I was sick — 
Day after day I turned and tossed in pain 
Until the time when I could turn no more, 
But moved a hand or stretched a restless foot 
Till they grew heavy and refused my will. 
And, last of all, my eyelids would not lift, 
And fluttered weakly under weary loads ; 
Then from myself I seemed to glide away, 
Out, out through infinite reaches of the sky, 
And down and down in rhythmic motion sank 
To still, dark deeps, till I became as naught. 
'T was death but free from pain or any care 
And just a little thrill of vague regret. 
Before my eyes my life a picture stood. 
How vain, alas! how mean and slight it seemed; 
The plans wrought out in anxious weariness 

6i 



That came to nothing, hopes all unfulfilled, 

Alluring dreams that never did come true; 

But all was over and no more to do, 

And rest was sweet, and so I died. A voice! 

A voice I know, long drawn and quavering, 

Pathetic, rising, falling like a wind 

And at the rise I catch some scanty phrase 

Faint as the message to the listening ear 

On slender wire from far-off city borne, 

But much I marvel I should hear at all. 

Is it that, others lost, one sense has grown 

A thousand, thousand fold, or do I wake 

Amazed, upon a world where Space is not? 

Or yet again, is there some living way 

O'er which words pulsing through the ether fly, 

The nerve of God from world to world? But list. 

The words grow plainer: " Pillar of the church." 

" Consistent Christian." " Zealous of good works." 

" A citizen whose loss we all shall feel." 

" Honest and upright, faithful, generous, 

In whom misfortune ever found a friend." 



62 



" We go to bear our dead friend to the grave ; 

Peace to his ashes, for the Hving, tears." 

That's parson Jones ; it is a funeral. 

*' Death waits us all, aUke the poor, the rich, 

Some sudden turning brings us face to face. 

But where or how to-morrow or to-day, 

Like Brother Thome's our journeys all must end." 

What ! Brother Thorne ? Ho there ! I am not dead — 

I am not dead, I am not dead, I am 

Open this cursed box and let me out. 



Did I not shout? Did not my muscles bound. 

My hair stand up, the sweat pour from my brow? 

All silent, voiceless, not a sigh nor breath. 

No quiver of the eyelash, mute and still. 

And he whines on — What fools these preachers are ! 

And they will bury me alive. Too late 

I shall awaken, six feet under ground, 

To rage, to choke, to bite my silly tongue, 

A rat caught in a trap and squeaking die. 



63 



Well, it is over; the last prayer is said. 
They gather now to stare upon my face — 
Ah, surely someone now in all that crowd 
Will have the sense to see I am not dead. 
If I could stir a finger-tip or toe, 
As I have done in nightmare, I should wake 
And rising up become myself again. 
Almost, almost, almost; and all in vain. 



There, there, dear heart, I feel your falling tears, 

I hear your sobs — God bless you, bless you dear; 

Out of the earth I '11 send my cry to Him 

To comfort and to keep you evermore : 

All dark, all dark — They bear me to the grave ; 

Here ends the journey: now they let me down, — 

Alone, alone, abandoned of my kind ; 

Lost, lost, by life and death alike disowned. 



A sudden crash and rattle overhead, 
Louder than thunder riving all the sky, 

64. 



The gravel — God in Heaven ! I started then ; 

I stretch my finger, move my hand, my foot; 

I gasp, I breathe, I gulp the stifling air, 

I knit myself together, brace my knees, 

I summon all my might, my will, my life, 

To hurl all forth in one tremedous yell 

Which, cleaving way through wood and falling earth, 

Shall climb the vault and fill the empty sky 

With widening echoes, ghostly, horrible. 

To snatch the breath from chilled and ashen lips. 

To set all teeth a-chatter while shrill cries. 

Break out in fearsome chorus answering mine. 

They draw me up — tear off the lid — My God! 



6s 



A WINTER'S NIGHT 

Draw up your chairs, the panes are white 
With winter growth, the ferns of frost; 

The bare elms shiver in the night. 

Their bony arms are wrung and tossed. 



The gates on frozen hinges creak, 

The rude wind tries each door and sash. 

And where it smites th' unwary cheek 
It stings and tingles like a lash. 



Upon the path the crackling snow 

Laughs at numb feet and stamping heel. 

And where the laden wagons go 

It drones and sings beneath the wheel. 

66 



The puffy smoke writhes in the air, 
And, dragon like, its coils unfolds; 

The starry lanterns wink and flare, 

The man i' the moon looks blue with cold. 



But crack the nuts while in the heat 
The corn its mimic fight begins, 

The skirmish, battle and retreat. 

Bring choicest apples from the bins. 



And pass the wine of sprightly speech. 
The brisk champagne of wit and jest; 

Give laughter easy room and each 
In turn make mirth for all the rest. 



Tell fairy tales and once again 
Let the deep buried genie loose; 

Sing nonsense songs, we '11 not disdain 
The melodies of Mother Goose. 

67 



So let the crazy Norther roar, 

Snug by the hearth we will not mind. 
To-night be written o'er our door: 

*' Who enters here, leave care behind." 



68 



UNRETURNING 

Gone? She is gone? Do you say she is gone? 
Ah, no; it is not so — I heard no sound; 
Her steps would run in music o'er the ground. 
No dewdrop stands a-tremble on the grass, 
No faintest footprint blurs the jewelled lawn 
To point the way where she did lightly pass. 

Ah, me! I see her not. How could she go? 
Was she not mine, — and I did love her so. 
It seems to me but just the other day, 
Last year, perhaps, a little while ago 
We sat together here in idle play — 
So many years? And I have slept, you say, 
And she is gone and will return no more? 
Ah, yes; she knows how all my pulses thrill 
To meet her, greet her, clasp her as of yore, 
For she is mine, is mine and loves me still. 
Yet while I slept she lightly stole away. 

69 



Yes, she is gone; but I will follow on, 

Follow and find her whither she is gone 

Through all the weary ways of life, in every clime. 

O'er land and sea and mountain height sublime, 

Desert and island and the empty air ; 

To every star in all the hollow sky; 

To the high gates of Heaven and gleaming wall 

Will follow, calling, listening everywhere. 

Will make my voice so strong and clear to reach 

Beyond all wastes, across all gulfs of time ; 

Will follow, weeping, listening as I call, 

Through all the sad vicissitudes of speech, 

Through all its stops, in every minor key, 

Through all the cadences of loss and pain. 

To woo her, win her, draw her once again, — 

" O Youth, Youth, Youth ! Come back, come back to 



me/' 



70 



EPHPHATHA 

Once as the harp from hand to hand 
Passed in high hall, each sang a lay, 

Some ballad of his native land, 

But one stole vexed and grieved away. 

He could not sing. With knitted brows, 
Head bent and cheeks that burned with flame. 

He went to watch the herded cows 
And chid himself till slumber came. 

Then was he 'ware that at his head 
A stranger stood and spake his name. 

And, " Cadmon, sing somewhat," he said, 
And stirred the half stilled founts of shame. 
71 



Alas, I cannot sing," he cried; 
" For that to-night I left the hall." 
Yea, thou shalt sing," the voice replied. 
"Of what?" "Creation and the Fall." 



As evening's sky with sudden flame 
His soul was filled with light divine, 

And trooping through his mind there came 
The meters, marshaling line on line, 



Then into column broke and wheeled — 
He woke, yet still they held their way. 

And thus it was the dumb man, healed, 
Became the Milton of his day. 



Ah, when I read the glowing page 
Of those great souls of other times 

Who pass the harp from age to age, 
I blush to own my little rhymes. 

72 



But might I hear by day or night 

One clear voice calHng from the skies 

That on my longing ear should smite 
Through all my dreams and fantasies — 



The old, sweet voice, strong to control 
All weakness and infirmities, 

To speak Ephphatha to my soul, 

Then would I rise and sing with these 



The formless songs of every mind. 
For I no higher lot would seek 

Than to be utterance for my kind, 
A voice for those who cannot speak. 



11 



THROUGH THE CLOUD AND THE SEA 

I SAT alone one day at the organ and played 
In a desolate, weary mood a strange sad strain. 
Through mazes of questioning chords my fingers 
strayed 
While I looked for the end in vain. 

For ever there strove in my heart a doubt and a hope. 
Light and darkness there in an even struggle warred, 
While ever some door in the sky seemed ready to ope 
And ever was shut and barred. 

And now the chords would swell like a wave when 

the tide 
Lunges against the shore and storms prevail, 
And now, as backward flung by the cliffs, it died 
Away in a passionate wail. 

74 



Till I saw where a window looked on the west and, lo ! 
The setting sun was fair, for the storm was o'er, 
And it touched the pictured panes with a rosier glow 
Which quivered along the floor. 

And lighted the patient face of my saint with smiles 
Till his wistful, far-off eyes grew wondrous sweet, 
And a glory streamed adown the echoing aisles 
And softly fell at my feet. 

And that sacred calm bade my foolish troubles cease 
With the storm and cloud without, and there somehow 

stole 
From that face or the shining heavens the hush of 

peace 
That softly possessed my soul. 

So Hope overcame, as with happy tears I bowed. 
While the swelling voice of the organ shook the air 
And rolled through the arches and rose like a pillar 
of cloud, 
And the glory of God was there. 

75 



And the glad pipes thrilled to the rushing flood of 
sound 

That filled all the place, till the phantoms that fol- 
lowed me, 

Dire hosts of an evil king, were whelmed and drowned 
In the surge of that mighty sea. 



76 



IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS 

It seems to be growing dark. 

The train is running slow 

But the car-wheels rumble so ! 

I 'm in such a haste to get home, 

For my wife has a terrible pain in her head 

And may not live till I come. 

Who is that there at the foot of my bed? 

And there on the mantel, clicks click, click — 

I wonder if I 've been sick? 

I don't feel anything much like pain 

But now I remember, the other day 

A windmill got in my head some way 

And its fans wheel round and round in my brain. 

77 



Why, what have I said ? You need n't smile ; 

I take queer notions once in a while 

But still, you see, I 'm perfectly sane, 

And come to think of it again 

It was n't a windmill after all. 

Only some sand got into my blood. 

It's been rushing along my veins for hours 

And it grates and grinds and scrubs and scours 

Till now it would n't be strange to find 

It had worn some holes in my mind. 

How did it get there ? Sure enough ; 

But it 's very volatile stuff 

And I think I got it in my food. 

Why yes, of course — The other day 

They gave me a piece of toasted brick 

And for hours and hours, I should think, it lay 

In my stomach and felt so hard and rough 

'T would have made a well man sick. 

Just look at those awkward curtain strings ! 
They hang to one side and the curtain 's awry. 
Couldn't you fix them if you should try? 
What makes them so careless about such things? 

78 



Some medicine for me to take! 

Ha-ha! but that is an odd mistake. 

The sick man 's there, at the foot of the bed, 

And he groans and tosses and tumbles about 

For, you see, he is out of his head, 

And when a man's head is a Httle Hght 

It 's queer what silly speeches he '11 make, 

And with this and with that he has kept me awake 

For more than half of the night; 

I wish you would take him out. 

And another thing let me tell you, I — 

Stoop and let me speak in your ear; 

I would n't for anything have him hear — 

That man is going to die. 

I could sleep, perhaps, but that terrible clock 

Rings like a woodchopper's axe in the wood, 

And the blood in my veins pounds on with a shock 

Like sea waves breaking against the rock. 

I don't understand you; what did you say? 

I can't any longer see your face 

And your eyes look a million miles away. 

I think — I am going — to sleep — 

Call me — at five — in that case. 

79 



What wonderful shadows, heavy and deep, 

Spin round each other and crawl and creep, 

Vanish and gather and pause and glide 

And dash into mist as they break on me. 

Widening out into quivering rings. 

While low and lower I slip and slide 

To the fathomless depths of an unknown sea, 

A region of shapeless, nebulous things, 

A boundless, soundless ocean of air. 

I lose the notion of change and place. 

My body becomes a point in space 

But I — I seem to be everywhere. 



80 



AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT 

The day is dying or dead, 

For the dull-red sun is lost in a dull-gray cloud, 
The air grows chill and the hum of wings grows loud, 

" It will rain to-morrow,'^ I said. 
But e'en as I spake, lo ! the tawny light, like a stain, 
A blur on the cloud, which suddenly brightened and 

spread. 
Till a fire brake out on the dusky edge of the world ; 
Then a segment of sky, like a wedge of blue, cleft the 

ridge in twain, 
Pushing it outward ever and upward, high and higher, 
Shivering base and crown in fragments rounded and 

curled. 
While from its chasms and rifts came gleams of purple 

and red. 
Ruby, and girasole, and gold, and glimmer of fire; 

6 8i 



And yonder — look ! where the misty sea, far off and 

dim, 
Is one with the misty sky — the bulging cheeks of the 

sun 
Fair with smiles as he silently drops below the rim ; 
And now indeed the day is over and done. 
" 'T will be fair to-morrow," I said. 



82 



A LITERARY VAGABOND 

This is my number, two hundred and seven, 

Front garret. Walk in. Let me hang up your hat. 

Take the chair and a pipe. This I call the sixth heaven 
And we neither are likely to get beyond that. 

Location tip-top, eh? Sunny and airy, 

Upper crust neighbors, high bred as you see. 

Climate rather severe if a chap were to marry, 

Thank Heaven, there is no one dependent on me. 

I Ve a cat, to be sure, but she 's very quiet, 
Don't run to hysterics whenever I 'm out ; 

Wears one coat a year and is fond of mouse diet 
Of which there is plenty here running about. 

83 



Here I sit at my ease with heels in the windows 
As I tilt back my chair and smoke like a Turk, 

And spin out abstractions as fine as a Hindoo's 
And weave subtle fancies, the end of mv work. 



I write for the papers — whenever I choose to ; 

If pocket and stomach are empty and find 
A dinner depends on it, I won't refuse to 

Do anything almost — for which I 've a mind. 



In fine, I 'm a sort of poetical gamin, 

Though I live in a garret instead of the street, 
I hate as he hates cold weather and famine 

And revel in sunshine and plenty to eat. 



Sometimes if by chance I 've been paid for an article 
I dine on green turtle and that sort of thing. 

Pay my score with a flourish, not caring a particle 
For trifles like that, any more than a king. 

84 



And yet, at a pinch, I can financier some. 

I sleep till breakfast is over, you see. 
Then dine very cheap on a warm bowl of — meer- 
schaum, 

And have my cold dinner warmed over for tea. 



I keep my own hours, read or sleep, lounge or study. 
With none to molest me — I 'm perfectly free ; 

Go and come as I will, for I care for nobody 
And — ^yes, true — there 's nobody cares for me. 



85 



LOST 

The branches are wailing, wailing, 
The winds are heavy and chill ; 
The shadows, sailing and sailing, 
Go chasing over the hill. 
Lo ! lo, faint and forlorn, 
Maddened and sore affrighted, 
Rushes like one benighted, 
And the masses of clouds she crosses, 
To left and to right she tosses. 
With glimmering, golden horn. 
O Heart, thou art stricken and ailing. 
Watching and waiting for morn, 
While the night is so wearily waning ; 
But useless is thy complaining, 
Thy sorrow is unavailing 
To call back the Unreturning. 
86 



And foolish thy fond endeavor 
To fan again into burning 
The cold and desolate ashes — 
To kindle again into flashes 
A fire that has vanished forever. 



87 



WILD PLUM BLOSSOMS 

Queen of the Spring, oh ! love, thou hast waited 

So long, while we looked and yearned for th^ 
coming ; 
Vainly the Bluebird has called thee, 

And the bee sought thee, sorrowful, humming 
A song to entice thee, belated 

With sleep or some spell that enthralled thee. 
Thy lovers reproach thee, but now thou art here 

We give thee good cheer. 

Bluebird and bee and L For thy sweetness 

Thrills every lingering air; and the thorny tree 
Seems a great white tropic bloom in its completeness ; 
And the bee with the honey of love is drunken, and 
sips 
Unbidden the glittering dew of the morning, 

Fragrant, flowing with perfume forth from thy lips. 

88 



But we are not envious, Bluebird and I, for we, 

Forgetting our waiting, forgiving thy long delay, 
Are happy and glad but in thy presence to be, 

Only to catch the waft of thy breath all the day, 
Only to touch the hem of the white robe adorning 

Thy beauty, and sing and sing in honor of thee, 
" Hail ! O Queen of the Spring." And, now thou art 
here, 

Stay with us all the year. 



89 



RIDDLES 

Uneasy, complaining around my lone dwelling, 
Winds weary with travel and never at rest, 

Half-articulate, answer me, telling 

What mean your low moanings and whispers sup- 
pressed ? 

Ye blow where ye list and the sound of your going 
I hear all unknowing your circuit and way. 

O cloud overblowing and brook ever flowing 
Where tendeth, where endeth your journeying, pray? 

Lone dove wailing and bare bough swinging, 

Gray hawk sailing in circles wide. 
Dead grass trailing and green blades springing, 

What is the age-long secret ye hide? 

90 



Brown leaves drifting and brown buds swelling, 
Birds building nests and torn nest that clings, 

O far-travelled winds that moan round my dwelling. 
What end to the stir and the striving of things? 

All the rivers run into the ocean 

Yet ne'er is it full, for in snow and in rain 
'Round and around through the cycles of motion 

Back to their sources they wander again. 

Full, full of labor, man cannot utter 
Nor fathom nor compass the mystery. 

Winds 'round my dwelling that mumble and mutter, 
Speak out and reveal the world's secret to me. 



91 



CIRCUMSTANCE 

Last night I walked, the moon was high, 
A golden glory broad and fair, 
Some broken clouds were drifting by 
From out the wrinkled western sky, 
An autumn mist was in the air. 
Around the moon a ring was thrown, 
A nimbus such as artists paint 
About the forehead of a saint. 
Encircling one star alone. 
Along the river's brink I strayed 
And saw the trees that downward grew, 
Whose leaves are never wet with dew. 
Whose rootlets never drink the rain, 
A silent underworld of shade. 

92 



Save where the moveless shadows lay 

The glittering stream that curved amain 

Shone fitfully, a Turkish blade 

That though the dark hills cleft its way. 

Some woven charm was in the air, 

Some secret, subtile witchery; 

High were my thoughts or seemed to me, 

And my rapt spirit thrilled and thrilled 

With lofty exaltation filled. 

Moved by some still, diffusive power 

O'er all, transfiguring earth and sky, 

That made it glorious but to be. 

This morn, from the untempered zone 
The gusty North, a blast was blown. 
An angry wind that whirled the dust, 
A bitter wind that chilled the bone, 
A spiteful wind that pushed and thrust, 
A blustering wind that swaggered by 
And roughly elbowed through the wood. 
That smote the ear with din and roar 
And with sharp pellets stung the eye. 

93 



Upon the river's bank I stood 

And watched the sullen waves that beat 

And flung their foam-drops at my feet, 

And all along the oozy shore 

The torn reeds tossing wearily. 

This morn, low in the western sky 
A cold white circle caught my eye, 
Faint as the first gray dawn of day, 
Wan as a ghost that dreads the light. 
This morn the spell that on me wrought 
Had yielded to a sad unrest. 
And dull and leaden was the thought 
That soared and shone but yesternight. 
And hope was dead within my breast. 
Pale as yon specter in the west, 
The moon that dimly sinks away. 



94 



THE WAGER BY BATTLE 

I 

Now when the Lady Evelyn was dead 

They wrapped her in her well-kept bridal gown, 

With here and there a jewel in dark braids, 

A wreath of snow-white flowers on snow-white brow, 

A creamy lily on the lily breast, 

And so, with tears and dole and long farewells, 

Laid her away in consecrated earth. 

Then good Sir Hugh, because his grief was great, 

And all the house was empty of delight, 

And every step rang ghostly in the halls, 

And day by day her portrait on the wall 

With sad eyes following, smote upon his heart. 

Her vacant chair, the pattern she had wrought, 

95 



Told ever of the bright but winged years 

Since first he brought her to the dark old house, 

An endless monotone of grief and loss, 

Set his face eastward and at Fontevraud 

Left only child, a maid of tender years. 

So passed, a shadow, forth from land to land 

And fell at last, struck through with paynim spear. 

But ere he set his back to all the past 
He gave by his Last Will and Testament 
To his half-brother, Ralph de Allingford, 
His large estate to have and hold in trust 
For his dear daughter when she came of age ; 
But if the child should die in infancy, 
Or if, attaining her majority. 
Should take the black veil of the sisterhood, 
Then to the said Sir Ralph and his heirs male 
A moiety, the rest to pious use. 

The summers came and went and came again 
And Blanche, the golden-haired attained her age. 
Large eyed, full lipped, and taller than the rest 

96 



Of the meek sisterhood and all unlike, 

For, faithful in the lowliest offices, 

The sunshine drew her more than cloistered shades, 

She loved the grass and flowers, not her bleak walls. 

The song of birds was sweeter than the drone 

Of evensong or tinkling nunnery bells. 

Half in a dream and half in memory 

She saw the green fields of her own dear land 

With snowy hedgerows, and she heard the voice 

Of lark and from dim forest aisles 

Horns blown afar and the faint bay of hounds. 

And much she prayed and strove to trample down 
These sinful longings, but the longings grew 
And would not be abased, so sore she yearned 
To see her ancient halls, her mother's grave. 
And learn, if it might be, her father's fate. 
So at the last she told the abbess all. 
With streaming tears and cheeks that burned ashamed. 
And hearing, pleased, the Holy Mother said: 
" These be suggestions of the foe of souls 



97 



To souls not wholly God's. I call to mind 

That much about your age the Devil's lure 

Had well nigh drawn me to his fatal snare, 

But with much penance, fasting long with prayer 

And vigils, from the Lord I craved a sign, 

And still with tears beseeching, fell asleep. 

When, suddenly, a glory filled my room 

And looking up astonied, lo ! the Lord, 

His bleeding temples bound with cruel thorns. 

And round the head a halo glistering white. 

He stood and pointed to His riven side. 

But I borne down with penitence and shame 

Could only gasp, ' Ah, Lord, for me, for me ! 

And I have torn Thy bleeding wounds afresh. 

But take the one poor gift I have, myself.' 

And He: *I take thee, daughter and My grace 

Be with you and suffice you to the end.' 

And then He passed, and waking, the gray east 

Was reddening with the streamers of the dawn. 

Such was the sign in which I overcame." 

So Blanche, much pondering and sore distressed, 

98 



Now thinking, *' I have conquered," and again 

" O wretched that I am," a shuttlecock 

Betwixt desire and conscience, as a dove 

That wildly whirs aloft to join the flock. 

By strong cord tethered flutters back to earth, 

And crying ever, " Lord, a sign, a sign ! " 

Long vigils over, sank in troubled sleep. 

Then suddenly her cell was full of light 

And looking up in awe to see her Lord, 

Behold ! with snow-white flowers on snow-white brow. 

With here and there a jewel in dark braids. 

Like drops of dew, as she beheld her last, 

The Lady Evelyn, who beckoning 

With thin, white hand and lips that made no sound 

But seemed to say, '' To England," slowly passed. 

So Blanche upspringing with a desolate cry 

For love remembered and the sheltering breast, 

Stretched out her longing arms though but to clasp 

The shadow of a dream, and so awoke 

And saw the long lance of the level sun 

Glancing on tree and spire and ruined tower, 

Strike through her casement, splintering on the wall. 

99 



With that she sought the Mother once again 
And such a luster gHmmered in her eyes, 
And such a gladness blossomed on her cheek, 
The abbess, nothing doubting, cried with joy, 
" Aye, you have had your message from the Lord." 
" Yea, my good Mother," and she told her all. 

And hearing, much amazed, the abbess mused. 
Debating if 't were devil's lure or no, 
Loath to receive, not daring to reject. 
Since God has work for men and women too 
In His great world, and convent walls were vain 
But for the mothers, so enjoined at last 
Another test and meekly Blanche obeyed. 

Then as before she filled the night with prayer 
Imploring, '* Lord, a sign, a sign, O Lord ! " 
And as before slept at the break of day. 
And lo ! a knight whose corselet at the breast 
Yawned with the mighty thrust of paynim spear 
Stood with white face, his armor dripping blood, 

lOO 



His voice like dry leaf fretted on the ground 

By querulous autumn wind, a piteous ghost: 

" To England, daughter, where with faithless priests 

Your faithless uncle schemes to hold your lands, 

And may the God who guards the innocent 

Grant a strong champion to fight your cause." 

So with wild eyes and sinking limbs that shook, 

By fear subdued and pale as any ghost 

The maid arose and the good Mother sought. 

Who heard the more amazed but not in doubt 

That God in vision had revealed His will. 

n 

" I, Blanche by baptism, 'gainst Sir Ralph propound 

That my good sire. Sir Hugh de Allingford, 

Was in possession of the certain lands 

Betwixt the River Thorne and King's highway 

And holden of our sovereign lord, the King, 

By payment yearly of two silver crowns. 

Which lands heritably pertain to me 

Through my sire's death, which said Sir Ralph from me 

lOI 



Unjustly holds to my great shame and scathe, 
Two hundred pounds, the which if he deny, 
Of the indwellers of the towne of Soame 
I ask assise; and my true claim to God 
And assise of good neighbours do refer, 
With right to say more if the need shall be." 
Thus the appellant sued for Writ of Right, 
To which the tenant of the lands replied : 
'' I, Ralph by baptism, do propound and say 
That I am rightful owner of the lands 
By the appellant named, and claim the right 
My own with mine own body to defend 
Against such champion as she choose to bring." 

Thus issue joined, the judges make decree 

That lists be fettle on a certain day 

Where right by wage of battle should be proved, 

Wherein the God of battles should reveal 

The truth by victory granted to the true. 

So when the day was come at early dawn. 
From leagues around the neighbors trooping came, 

1 02 



And wardens of the law to guard the Hsts; 

The justices anon, in purple robes, 

And heralds with their trumpets, and sleek priests 

From near-by abbey, lusting for the lands 

Which they should share, and praying for Sir Ralph, 

Prepared for burial service of the dead 

If one be found so rash to fight. A bier 

Stood ready for the luckless wretch who fell. 

Then as the trumpet proclamation made 

With ponderous step to open list advanced 

A bulky giant, brawny, mighty armed. 

With massive neck and vast wind-hardened cheeks 

That, where not overgrown with grizzled beard, 

Like well-tanned leather shone, and great red hands. 

Freckled and blotched and furred like lion's paw ; 

But now, through revelling and past his prime 

A little shaken and less free of breath. 

Less quick of hand and sure than in the days 

When seldom knight, in list or press of fight. 

Received his lance or clanging battle-axe 

And rolled not in the dust or stained the earth. 



103 



Then trumpets sound again and after hush 

Of expectation runs a sudden thrill 

Of mingled wonder, mystery and awe 

As from the crowd a maiden all in black, 

Firm tho' reluctant, with set lips and eyes 

That wavered not nor shrank to challenge death, 

Though in his stronghold, to the bench advanced, 

Where Law enthroned in red robed judges sat, 

And spake, clear voiced, " Hear this, ye justices, 

I, Blanche de Allingford, in England born 

But left, a child, in convent by my sire, 

And reared in France, a stranger to my own 

I come, and know not whether of my kin 

Any survive save yonder perjured knight 

Who, leagued with faithless priests, usurps my lands. 

Here without champion or a friendly face 

Or kindly hand to greet me, lo ! I stand 

Alone yet not alone, strong in the strength 

Of Him who is the strength of all this world, 

Who through the hands of one who watched the sheep 

With shepherd's sling and pebbles from the brook 



104 



Humbled the giant's pride in dust and death. 

So grant me leave in my own cause to fight, 

And if my body perish give it place 

In English soil to rest, but undismayed 

And joyful shall my spirit rise to God 

Who gave it, far beyond all scathe and wrong." 

Then while the judges murmuring conferred, 
And Sir Ralph hung his head, ashamed and vexed, 
Debating which were worse, to lose the lands 
Or the disgrace to fight a tender maid, 
The people cheered, with admiration caught. 
As a young man, hot cheeked and eager eyed 
Sprang to the lists and cried, " Ye judges, hear, 
Put not our English honor to foul shame. 
Fair lady, give me leave to fight your cause. 
And, if God will, I shall maintain your right." 

She, turning, marked a slender youth and tall. 
White handed, smooth of face and looking more 
A clerk than warrior, yet alert and keen. 
With supple sinews and not scant of strength, 

105 



Clothed with all grace, and fine in form and grain. 

Then as she looked a tender pity grew 

That such an one should stake his life for her, 

A stranger, and so young — so goodly, too ! 

But he, not rightly following her thought: 

" Nay, lady, nay. I am not so unfit 

For this rude sport as haply you may deem, 

Where victory in any case belongs 

Not to sheer strength, and in good cause, 

God with us, surely I shall overcome. 

O lady, trust me, give me leave to fight." 

And she, warmed in her heart, with reddened cheeks 

" I give you leave and trust you all in all." 

So, reassured. Sir Ralph threw down his glove 
And bellowed forth his boast : " Here is my gage 
Which I with my own body will defend." 
" I take it up," the stranger said, " and will 
Body to body the appeal make good." 
Then oaths were taken as by law prescribed : 
" Heare this, ye justices, that I this day 
Have eaten nought nor drunken, nor have I 

1 06 



Upon me bone, ne stone, ne magic herb, 
Inchantment, witchcraft, no nor sorcery, 
Whereby the word of God might be inleased 
Or devil's power increased, so help me God, 
And all His holy saints and by this book." 



Again the trumpets warned the people back, 
Lest any touch the lists or shout aloud, 
And with keen blade the executioner 
Stood by to sever hand or foot if one 
In any wise the battle should disturb. 
With cloaks cast of¥, in trews and tunics clad, 
And girt about the waist with leathern belt. 
Red-sandalled feet and legs bare to the knee. 
Each with a target and a baton armed 
Of stoutest oak, an ell long, tipped with horn, 
On either side the lists the foes were placed 
And the red sun rose up in the fair east 
And caught and kissed the bright hair of the maid 
In ripples shining and her champion saw 
And marvelled at her beauty and was glad. 

107 



Once more, from out the lists the trumpets sound 
And herald cries, " Let the combatants fight." 
So these advanced, one swaggering, over bold. 
And scornful of antagonist too slight 
To give occasion for display of strength, 
Whom but his baton's wind would puff aside, 
Gay with the hope of victory lightly won. 
The other with clear eyes that searched his foe. 
Grave, not unmindful of the chance of fight 
But nothing loath, and cheered in all his heart 
With sense of right and with a sweet, new hope 
To earn his lady's favor with her cause; 
Not hasting nor delaying, calm and sure. 
So for a moment stood they face to face, 
Crossed batons sidewise slanted, and retired 
A step and waited each the other's move, 
With searching eyes and muscles standing out 
Like tiger's at the spring, until Sir Ralph 
Aimed such a blow as if he thought some tower 
To topple from its base, but lightly sprang 
Aside the stranger while the heavy staff, 
Glancing from target, beat the empty air. 

io8 



Then through the crowd a growing murmur ran 
Where none might talk aloud; half whispering 
They spake, and one : '' Fore God, a mighty stroke. 
Well that the stranger tempted not its weight." 
*' Yea," said his neighbor, " 't is a nimble youth 
And shrewd of fence; I doubt Sir Ralph will win." 

What need of further tale, how oft they met 

One striking madly, one evading stroke 

But not returning it, or as in sport 

A sudden, playful tap and quick retreat 

To draw his burly foe across the lists 

With waste of breath, then doubling like a cat 

Or as, at eve, the midge in braided dance. 

But as from time to time the murmur grew 
And men scarce held themselves from clapping hands 
Or shout, the headsman lifted axe, 
Whereat the sound sank like a breaking wave 
That whispering slides o'er darkening slopes of sand. 
Yet was there need of all his nimbleness 

109 



'Gainst one not faint of heart nor slow of foot, 

Where Death stood eager-eyed to watch the game. 

And once, indeed, the end had almost come. 

When stealing sidelong glance at lady fair, 

One instant off of guard, Sir Ralph sprang in 

With crashing blow that, caught on sounding targe, 

Had sent the young man reeling, like to fall, 

His foeman pressing on for final stroke. 

Then Blanche, in fright, unmindful of her lands. 

The time, the place, her maidenly reserve. 

Had broke the ban of silence with a shriek 

Had friendly neighbor not clapped hand to lips 

To shut it in and hush it to a moan ; 

But darkness wrapped her as she slid to earth 

And saw not how her champion, smiling still, 

Regained with supple grace his easy poise, 

All undisturbed, awaiting what should come. 

But people marvelled and half angry grew 

Seeing the stranger had forborne to strike 

Stout blow to cripple his antagonist 

Grown careless of his fence. 



no 



So passed the hours, 
High rose the sun, undimmed by any cloud 
And folk grew restless, suffering heat and thirst, 
But now, at last, Sir Ralph became aware 
That his great strength was waning, for his ears 
Rang to the beat of muffled drums, and breath 
Came sobbing and heart crashed against his ribs. 
His dry tongue ever licked white, blistered lips. 
And bloodshot eyes saw blood o'er all the field. 
As David longed for well of Bethlehem, 
So he for water and the evening star. 
Then was he minded for a space to rest 
And wait attack but had not long to wait, 
For now the other, seeing evil chance 
Might bring disaster to his lady's cause. 
And seeing how his enemy was spent. 
Urged on the fight and swift and swifter fell 
His blows which Sir Ralph parried as he might 
With clashing baton or resounding targe, 
Until one glancing smote the huge right hand. 
Which, reddening and benumbed, let go its grip 



III 



And the stout staff dropped, rolling on the ground. 
" Now yield thee, perjured knight," the stranger cried, 
" Fore God I am no craven," roared Sir Ralph ; 
'' I will not yield while any drop of blood 
Runs in my veins or breath in body bides." 
But even as he spake he reeled and fell, 
Of breath bereft, slain not by foeman's staff 
But by the blazing sun and wrath of God. 



Then for a moment standing as in ruth 
The champion mused, when turning to the bench, 
Where sat the justices in scarlet robes. 
He spake: "Ye judges, I full fain had spared 
This knight who did some kindness to my sire, 
But God has judged, and let your judgment give 
To rightful heir possession of her lands." 
Then unto Blanche, recovered from her swoon, 
But pale and trembling still as o'er her cheek 
Played smiles and shadows, as the sun and cloud 
O'er ripening wheat : " O lady, we have won. 
I with such skill as God to me accords, 

112 



You with your beauty and your innocence 

Which made me doubly strong and thrice as sure. 

All blessings on you, and for me the joy 

Of further service if the need should rise." 

And she : " O noble sir, to whom I owe 

Not longed-for home alone but life as well, 

How poor my words to show my wealth of thanks, 

And more than all the rest to see you safe; 

For had you fallen not my lands or home 

Nor all this realm of England could suffice 

To ease my grief who suffered you to fight 

A stranger's battle." 

Here the tale has end. 
Let him who will the happy sequel tell 
Where nought forbids the end all lovers love. 



8 



113 



WHAT THE ENGINE SAYS 

What does the voice of the engine say 
With its hissing steam and its roaring wheels, 
The rhythm of cars that surge and sway? 
In varying speech to the varying mood 
It echoes the thought the traveler feels, 
The good that he hopes or the ill that he fears, 
It shouts or it whispers to listening ears 
To quicken the pulse or curdle the blood. 

What does the voice of the engine say 

To the children ofif for a holiday? 

It tells of meadows white with clover 

Filled with the murmur and drone of the bee, 

Of bright-winged butterflies blowing over, 

114 



Of sunny slopes and of lambs at play, 

Of gusty hills and the billowing wheat, 

Of leaves that whisper and boughs that swing, 

And the wheels on the smooth rails hammer and ring, 

" Up and away, up and away, up and away ! " 

And the hiss of the steam seems to repeat, 

** We are free, we are free, we are free, free, free ! " 



What does the voice of the engine say 

To the man of business upon his way 

Back to his ledger or back to the street, 

The hiss of the steam and the wheels that beat 

Their intricate meters along the rail? 

*' Business rushing, business booming all the time that 

you 're away, 
Losing money, money, money ; you will miss it, miss 

a sale, 
Missed it, missed it, you have missed it ; losing money 

every day ; 
Swifter, swifter, hustle, hustle, you will fail, fail, 

fail ! " 

115 



What does the voice of the engine say 
With its hissing of steam and its clash on the rail 
To the felon borne on his fugitive way? 
" They will catch you, catch you, catch you," it is 

sneering in derision ; 
" No escape, no escape," and his cheek grows thin and 

pale 
And his breath comes hard and slow as there rises up 

a vision 
Of the court, the trial, judgment, the gallows and the 

prison. 
" Ruin, ruin, all is ruin — death or prison," so it saith. 
Beaten down a hundred times and a hundred times 

arisen : 
"Death or prison. Death or prison? It is death, 

death, death ! " 



What does the flying engine say 
To the soldier borne to the coming fray? 
In the hissing of the steam, in the rush and roar and 
rattle, 

Ii6 



In the whirl and clash and clangor, if he listen he 

will hear 
Orders blown and orders shouted, all the voices of the 

battle, 
All its mighty diapason, rising, falling on the ear, 
Where the long lines ebb and flow and the bullets 

shrilly sing, 
Cries of terror and defiance, cries of anger and of 

blame, 
Sabers clashing, muskets crashing, dire confusion 

mingling, 
Screams of shell and measured thunder of the cannon 

gushing flame. 
Cries of onset and retreat, cries of triumph and dismay, 
O'er and o'er and like a burden, swell and break and 

swell again, 
Blending in a ceaseless, never ending threnody of pain, 
In one ruthless cry of death and slaughter, '' Slay, 

slay, slay ! " 



117 



RAGNAROK 

The earth flames in a fiery rain 

And crackling clouds drive o'er the sky, 

Your task, O pallid Norns, is vain ; 
Behold the fount of Urd is dry. 

The strong earth lifts, the mountains reel, 
The glitering sons of Muspel ride 

Where Bifrost, 'neath the iron heel 

Breaks, crashing to the bellowing tide. 

Whelmed in the sea's vast overflow 

Sink cliffs, from their deep bases hurled. 

The Gjallarhorn begins to blow 

And thunder rolls around the world. 



Ii8 



THE NEW NAME 

What shall I call her when we meet? 

She knew no other name on earth 
Than that which mothers find so sweet ; 

Though words be cold and little worth 
" Our baby " seemed a name complete. 

But now so many years have flown 

Since from my tearful gaze she passed, 

How shall I in the great unknown, 
Amazed where all is strange and vast, 

How shall I there reclaim my own? 

What sweet, rare title does she bear? 

For when I meet her on that shore, 
Grown wise and great as she is fair 

** My baby " I can say no more, 
For I shall be the infant there. 



119 



AS I GROW OLD 

What shall I ask as I grow old ? 

More strength of limb, for lengthened days, 

More honor or more idle praise, 

For power or fame, or gift of gold, 

A greater house, more lands to hold? 

Not so; nor yet that mystic lore 

One sought and gained in days of old, — 

To talk with bird or rock or tree. 

To bind fierce spirits or to free, 

Or far or near to call them still 

And make them vassals to his will ; 

With gems and gorgeous robes a store, 

A pleasure-house, an ivory throne. 

1 20 



Then saw with disillusioned eyes 
How all was rotten at the core 
And in his darkness made his moan 
To empty space and hollow skies, 
" O ! vanity of vanities." 

Nor far off ways of life to see, 
What gifts, what joys may fall to me. 
Let me but walk with vision clear, 
The path I choose not nor decline, 
That ends in darkness where at last 
In mists and cloud I disappear. 
But till that day I only ask 
For lesser want, not greater gain; 
Not more but better use of strength, 
More patience for my daily task, 
For daily bread for me and mine, 
For larger life fed from within. 
For wealth which genders in the mind. 
For full acceptance of the plan 
Where I am one with God and man, 

121 



A larger fellowship with pain, 
For sympathy with all my kind, 
Contentment with my little store 
And in my heart more love and more. 



122 



LIFE AND LOVE 

Fair is the morn and sweet the air, 
With flowers abloom the fields are gay 
And woods are full of scent and song. 
I go to spend the livelong day 
In curious quest or idle play 
Without a task, without a care, 
For youth is free and life is long. 
Love whispered shyly unto me, 
" Take me with thee." 



Ah, me ! for youth and spring are done, 
The happy days, they all are o'er. 
The careless days come not again. 
The golden hours are mine no more. 
Now I must toil beneath the sun 
I cannot stop with thee to play. 

123 



The sober work of life begun 
Fills all the thought of all the day. 
Love answered with soft eyes to me, 
*' I toil with thee." 



Alas, for me all days are done. 
Spring, summer, autumn, all are past. 
Youth was a dream and time so fleet 
And hope was vain and love so sweet, 
Yet I must leave thee now at last, 
Below the sky-line drops the sun, 
The bitter night draws on so fast. 
The pathway leads to lands unknown 
With jagged rocks and thorns bestrown. 
Thou can'st not aid me nor delay, 
Why should'st thou wound thy tender feet? 
Leave me to tread that path alone. 
So one last kiss and let me go; 
Ah, wherefore dost thou hold me so? 
With streaming eyes love answered, " Nay, 
All, all the way." 
124 



BELATED 

What doest thou here this chill and bleak November, 

Amazed, forlorn, among the frozen leaves? 
Does it not break thy heart, now, to remember 

The long bright days when, clad in golden greaves, 
With lance in rest thou held'st 'gainst every comer 
The thistle bloom, the honey-bended clover, 
Or, flitting on, light-hearted, idly humming, 
From flower to flower, from field to field a rover? 

What drove thee forth from the warm, friendly hive 
Filled with the plundered sweets and scents of summer, 
When summer suns and blooms and heats are over? 
When withered leaves with shrill and desolate cry 
Along the blasts like flocks of sparrows drive, 
What ailed thee to fare forth in this far field to die ? 
Ah me, for I alike have wandered vainly. 
Restless and troubled, full of eager yearning, 
Hope beckoned and retreating drew me after. 
Sometimes I saw a glimmer, sometimes plainly, 
But I could ne'er o'ertake that fleeting laughter. 
Now, far afield, the fateful winter coming, 
O'erworn, I cease — and there is no returning. 

125 



FEVER FANCIES 

Monstrous, ghastly, miscreate, 
Dwarfish phantoms, flittering, Hght, 
Through my door and windows drifting, 
Coming, going, all the night; 
Twisted features, hideous grin, 
Claw-like hands and leprous skin, 
Voices sibilant and shrill, 
Withered, crackling, whispering, thin, 
Prophesying dreadful fate. 
Lying prophets ! Well I know 
You are figments of the mind. 
But your mirthless, idiot laughter 
And your gibbering frets me so. 
What, you scurvy, starveling thief? 
Blear-eyed, rheumy, grim and gaunt, 

126 



Sick, you say, and need relief? 
Help yourself to what you want ; 
Quinine capsules, powders, pill — 
Ah ! it 's whiskey that you 're after ! 
Take it and begone with you, 
For if I but ope my eyes, 
Dread will seize you and surprise. 
Out you go and down you go 
With your noisome, snickering crew, 
Rolling, tumbling, sliding slow, 
Writhing, wavering out of sight, 
To unmeasured gulfs below. 



127 



DOWN BELOW 

Safe and snug under ground, Heigho! 
With nothing to worry me, nothing to fear, 
I care not for rain, I care not for snow; 
The summer may come, the summer may go, 
I change not at all with the change of the year. 

Ho, Ho! 
The sleeping is fine in my bed down below. 

You above there may fret, you may pine. 

You may pray for the rest which is mine 

Though you shrink from it so; 

You toil and you sweat, your struggles are vain, 

While you curse its hard fetters you 're dragging a 

chain 
You forge for yourselves if you only could know, 

Ho, Ho! 
But free are we all in the world down below. 

128 



By fine names or foul though you call 
Your discords, confusions and war, 
Humane or malign as you will 
Your tumults but lull from afar. 
Unmeaning to us are they still. 
Brag and bluster, delusion, deceit, 
Greatness, grandeur, despair and defeat, 
Shame and glory are names and no more 
Where fightings and boastings are o'er, 
Where is no one to rise or to fall, 
But you up above there, Heigho! 
You madmen who muddle things so. 
The mightiest nation of all 
Is silent and still here below, 

Ho, Ho! 
All the paths of the world lead below. 

I heed not the ebb and the flow, 
Not the shout nor the sob of the sea. 
Whether good luck or ill luck may blow, 
Secure is my portion to me. 

9 129 



Expectation and striving all done, 
Here equal at last and at one, 
Kings, counsellors, peasant and slave 
Without rancor or greed in the grave. 
You above there so troubled, Ho, Ho! 
Come down below. 



130 



SEALED ORDERS 

Three sharp raps on my door 

Shatter my dream. 
Who from the desolate shore 

Of the unmeasured sea, 

Without guide, without gleam. 

From the obdurate dome 
Of the black night is come 

With message to me? 
What! Muffled and formless and dumb! 

'' Come in ! I 'm at home." 



131 



THE RETURNER 

O Earth, Earth, Earth, upon thy breast, 
Thy tender breast, I lay my head. 
Here, where the leaves of gold and red, 
All summer ripening in the sun, 
Their day accomplished, one by one, 
With but the tremor of a sigh, 
Unclasp their hands to flutter down, 
Upon thy faithful heart to die; 
'Mid trailing vines and grasses brown, 
O Earth, dear mother of us all. 
Here where the noiseless shadows fall 
Grant thou the weary wanderer rest. 

132 



The quails' far piping, loud and clear 

The blue jays' wrangle in their tree, 

The cricket chorus thin and high, 

The soft, warm wind's low lullaby, 

Shall mix and murmur in my ear; 

The winged blossom of the air 

In crooked flight shall waver near; 

The timid rabbit, stealing by 

With wide, wild eyes, will look at me; 

The mantis clasp his hands in prayer. 

Thus let me lie, while o'er me go 

The eastering shadows, wheeling slow ; 

The moon up-climbing, still and white. 

Her dreamy spell will o'er me throw. 

And in the awful depths a star 

Will gaze upon me from afar. 

Thus, musing on the wistful skies. 

That brood above me tenderly, 

O sleep ! O sleep ! seal up my eyes ; 

O deeper stillness ! steal from me 

133 



My pulses, softly as you may ; 

As through shut lids the yellow light 

Grows gray and dim, so let the fires 

Burn low and low and die away, 

Till, watching, one should scarcely say 

When the last flickering tongue expires, 

And sleep has yielded room to thee. 

Thus, thus, O mother of us all, 

From whom we are, in whom we cease, 

Receive again the life you gave, 

And here, where braided shadows fall. 

Let the Returner find a grave, 

And in thy breast eternal peace. 



134 






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